


The Once and Future Captain

by AssistedRealityInterface



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 17:18:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7323946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssistedRealityInterface/pseuds/AssistedRealityInterface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>O Captain, my Captain, you're kind of really bad at flirting with Sara. Or: Rip Hunter reaffirms his faith in his lionheart. Sara's just excited to be Lancelot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Once and Future Captain

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this because trans Rip Hunter is the only Rip Hunter that matters, first off. Also, it was pride week. Also, I am so tired of the lack of trans fic in fandoms as a whole. More widespread acceptance of trans headcanons the same way we as a fandom accept bi/gay/queer/lesbian headcanons, please.  
> I myself am nonbinary and dfab, so I tried to use language that I often use with myself when it comes to Rip and discussion of gender. Keep this in mind as you read! And thank you for reading!

 

There were a few things Rip Hunter did not consider himself to be. Number one: a fool. Number two: an adulterer. Number three: a risk taker.

So how, exactly, he had ended up leading Sara Lance around a dance floor, his head swimming and his heart aching, realizing— _I want this, nothing but this, forever—_ was unbeknownst to him.

Well, to be perfectly honest with himself—the last thing he wanted to be, mind—he _had_ thought she was heartbreakingly beautiful since the second she’d stepped on the ship. So maybe he’d just, you know, followed her around like a lost puppy a little. Dignity was overrated. Fine. Whatever. He was fine. He was _phenomenal_ —

And _now_ she was kissing his neck.

He froze. His heart thudded wildly and his eyes widened, like a deer startled mid-graze. Sara nuzzled his cheek, tilting her head up and murmuring into his ear, “Hey. The guys we’re looking for—over there.”

“Oh,” Rip said, his belly fluttering. “Oh. So, what was that all about—“

She turned, and he twirled her away from him without thinking, spinning in a circle until she returned to him, grasping his hip, her fingers digging in. She leaned in close, closer still. “Hey. Do you trust me?”

_I don’t know, but I love you, so that’ll do._

“Indubitably,” he said, because that was marginally less awful, “but what do you mean to—“

“Okay, Union Jack, then follow me and start touching my tits,” she said. “Act drunk.”

Rip froze. Sara rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand, slapping it down on her breast. “C’mon, you know how to touch a boob, right? There doesn’t have to be an instruction manual for you touching my tits, _Captain—“_

“I know what a breast feels like, Sara,” he snapped. Sara huffed, keeping a firm grip on his wrist.

“C’mon, then,” she said, leading him off the dance floor. “Let’s go.”

He wasn’t sure how well, exactly, he was playing the part of the drunken date grasping at his paramour’s chest, but given that he could barely string a real sentence together in his head beyond _I am touching Sara Lance’s breasts and tonight I will die here_ he was pulling it off, probably.

When he looked up from his place leaning on her shoulder, she was smiling at him. His heart lurched, his hand reaching out to brush against her throat, fingers curling just beneath her chin.

“Hi,” she said, taking his hand and lifting it off her neck so she could rub her thumb along the underside of his wrist. “You know, I kind of like seeing you from this angle.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, his face hot. He tried to hide his blush and only succeeded in burying his face in between her breasts. He jerked his head back, his breathing heavy, and twisted away from her.

She paused, cocked her head, furrowed her brow. “Okay. Fuck. Trust me. Just—“ her fingers fumbled here, reaching for the door, a lockpick sliding out from under her bracelet so she could fiddle with the door—“just, don’t freak out.”

Before Rip could protest, she slung him into the room like he weighed nothing, locked the door behind him, and started ripping at his shirt.

He gasped, his heart hammering against his ribs, slapping her hands aside before he could curb his reflexes. Sara lifted her hands up like his touch had burned her.

“Sorry,” she said. “I should’ve warned you—“

“Yes, you should have,” Rip snapped, wrapping his arms around his chest. “What the hell are you doing?”

Sara looked down at her shoes, running her tongue along her teeth. “Oh. Right. Haha, wow—being a fucking homewrecker again, I guess. Cool.”

He paused. Took in the shameful slump of her shoulders, the shine of tears building on her eyelashes.  “Oh. Well. I believe there’s been a miscommunication. I’m not upset—“

She buried her face in her hands and Rip winced. “Sara? Please—“

“Nope,” she said. “No, it’s fine. This is enough to fake it. Just keep your voice _down.”_

“I will,” he promised, leaning in close. “Ms. Lance?”

“Don’t be so god damn _formal_ with me, Rip,” she said, her voice shaking. “You know my name. Use it.”

“I—Sara,” Rip said, his stomach souring with bile and panic. “I—I didn’t mean to rebuke you so harshly. Forgive me. I just—“

“Just what? Just didn’t want to cheat on your wife? Like, duh! Of _course_ not! I just—wasn’t thinking,” Sara said.

“Sara,” Rip said, even quieter, “my wife has passed.”

“Okay, but—“

“No. Listen, please,” he said. “I know what the end goal of this mission is. I _know_ that. But it does not change the fact that right here, and now, I…”

He looked down at her hands. So soft and gentle.  They were beautiful hands, even though he could still see blood under her fingernails.

“The odds that I will be reunited my wife and son are—low, at best,” he said, his voice even lower. “The more I think about this, the more I think I have sent us all on a fool’s errand. And for that, since I have now involved all of you, I am truly sorry.”

Sara cocked her head and raised her eyebrows. Rip looked away, blinking harshly. His eyes stung and his heart was hammering, and it hurt to look at her directly, like staring into the sun. “But, now that I am here, I have no choice but to push forward. And perhaps we can stop a tyrant together, even if I cannot save my family.”

There was a long silence. Rip looked down at his feet. “Well. That—that’s not exactly Richard the Third on the unofficial scale of rousing speeches, but—it’s the truth. I don’t know if I can help my wife and son. I will try. I can do nothing else. But—but right now, what I _do_ know is I am here, with you, and yes, I am still grieving, but I—I care for you deeply, and I am _sorry—“_

Sara cupped his cheeks, tilting his head up. Rip stiffened. Sara tsked and cracked a smile. “Idiot. Did you just apologize for saying you liked me?”

“Well, not because you’re a bad person, but merely—I do not want to place any undue burden on you to respond or reciprocate or—“

“Okay, Fitzwilliam Darcy, calm down,” Sara said. “Hey. Okay. Stupid. You’re fine. I just—freaked out. Because I—you know. I’ve done this before. Been this _woman_ before. And I don’t want to be someone’s other woman, I don’t want—I don’t—“

Rip put his hands on her hips and leaned in closer. “Sara. When I say right here and now, you are the only woman—the _only_ one—is that enough?”

There was a pause. His heart throbbed, his throat tightened, and his hands shook, prepared to leave her hips and turn away.

Slow, deliberate, and gentle as a feather on the breeze, her arms reached up, wrapped around his shoulders, pulled him down and clung to him tight.

“That’ll do,” she said, and kissed him.

He didn’t stop her. Could never, ever stop her. She was an ocean, vast and all-encompassing, with a powerful tide that sucked you in and made you feel at home. Even when you were drowning? Was he drowning? He couldn’t tell. Didn’t want to think about it. She was kissing his neck now, and her hand was sliding down his shirt, and there was a reason he had to stop her, but he wasn’t sure why—

Her thumb flicked open the catch on his pants and he flinched. Oh. Well. There it was.

“Sara, hold on,” he said, his hands on her sleeves. “Could I—first, I’d like to—“

“Oh, are you offering to undress me? Such a gentleman,” she teased. “C’mon then. Be all fuckin’ manly and tear my clothes off, you terrible brute.”

He made a face at her. She grinned, lifting her skirts up. “C’mon, I’m not getting any wetter with us just standing here.”

“Neither am I,” he mumbled into her breasts, kissing a crown along the top of her dress while his fingers fumbled and slid for the zipper.

He tugged it off her shoulders, peeling it off her arms and reaching up to unhook her necklace, letting the beads pool in his hand as he dropped them on the bed, sliding her dress and panties off down her thighs and kneeling to let her step out of it, falling back on the bed and grinning.

“Were you wearing a bra, by any chance?” Rip said, climbing up onto the bed and hovering over her. Sara laughed. He made a soft tutting noise. “Mm. All right. Well, you look—you look incredible. Exquisite.”

“They’re tits, not a gallery opening,” Sara said, arching her back up. “Do me a favor and suck my nipples? They’re sensitive and stubble burn is going to feel _amazing_ —“

He buried his face into her chest, sucking hard as he’d been asked, because if he could tease the tip of her nipple with his tongue and nuzzle the curve of her breast, scraping stubble along the soft skin, he would get to die happy, for starters, and second, maybe Sara wouldn’t undress him yet. He could have this.

He squeezed her breast with his free hand, rubbing her nipple between his fingers, palming and kneading it gently, closing her eyes and listening to her moans, drinking them in as he dragged his teeth over her nipple, his chest soaring when her next moan unspooled into a desperate scream.

“Fuck,” she said, grabbing the back of his head. “We don’t have—time—“

“But you’d like it if I—“

“Don’t stop,” Sara agreed, “yet.”

Rip switched sides, rubbing his fingers along the stubble burn on her breast just to make her squirm, nipping and rolling the bud of her erect nipple between a constant pull-and-push of his tongue and teeth. Sara shivered, groaning and panting, heavy, heady breaths, her hips rolling, nudging against him, grinding against the front of his pants when she squirmed. Rip paused, pulling away with a wet little pop.

“You’re right,” she agreed, “we should stop, because we’re not teenagers, and I’d like to get past the fucking foreplay—“

“No, really, it’s fine, I—I like doing this, we could just—“

“Rip,” Sara said, cupping his cheeks, “if you have some weird fucked up cyborg H.R. Geiger dick from the future, tell me now, because it’s totally fine, but I just figure—“

“No, it’s,” Rip paused. “I shouldn’t be embarrassed. I know. It’s. Foolish. I—“

He sat up. “First, do we have the time for this?”

“Guys won’t be here for another forty-five minutes, that’s enough time for a quickie and some weapons prep,” Sara said with a shrug.

“Ah. Yes. Well, then I ought to…” Rip sighed. “If you don’t mind, I’ll undress myself.”

“Nah man,” she said with a shrug, rolling over and arching her hips up, letting him see the curve of her ass. “Gimme a good show, Captain.”

“God,” Rip sighed through his teeth, letting warm exasperation spread and fill in all the cracks panic was putting in his heart. “I really do—Sara, you—“

“Show me your dick already,” she said, and he paused.

“Well,” he said, sliding his pants down and kicking off his shoes, “if that’s what you want.”

“Don’t make it sound like a threat,” Sara teased, rolling her eyes and grinning as Rip’s hands stopped on the band of his briefs, his fingers hooking into the elastic and trying to keep it in place.

“Fuck that,” he muttered, mostly to himself, “I’m—not—embarrassed—“

He stripped from the waist down, throwing his suit jacket aside and ripping a few buttons off his shirt in a haste to get it off, his tie choking him at the neck for a second before he undid it, throwing everything aside.

It took a split second, but as soon as he’d registered the sudden pressure, he realized Sara was on top of him, her fingers digging into his chest as she snarled.

His chest heaved, big and full and frightened breaths, like a rabbit gone tharn. Her eyes were wide and wild, running over the pale scars under his pectorals.

“Where did you get those scars?” she demanded. “Rip? Who hurt you?”

Something in the middle of his panic softened, split open, like a seed giving way to a green unfurling bud. His eyes softened. “Oh, Sara. No one did.”

“Then why the fuck are you _covered_ in those scars—“

“I’m not covered. There’s just two. Surgical. I had top surgery. I mean. Um.”

She paused and cocked her head. “Top surgery?”

“I had surgery,” Rip said, the saliva in his mouth sour, his tongue fuzzy and his throat dry, “to remove my breasts.”

There was a beat. Sara’s hand slid over the scars.

“Oh.”

Rip closed his eyes. “Well. I’ll get dressed. We’ve spent enough time in here to—“

“Shut up,” Sara said, running a hand through her hair. “You’re trans? That’s it, right?”

He nodded without looking at her. “Yes.”

“Oh, thank god,” Sara said, heaving a sigh. “Jesus Christ, Rip, from the way you were carrying on, I was sure it was going to be some weird tentacle-y slobbering fanged dick from the future or whatever!”

“Oh,” Rip said, finally glancing up at her. “Well. It’s. Not that.”

“I can see that!” Sara said. “Thank god, because I can eat pussy like a fucking champ, but I don’t know how I’d suck that kinda dick.”

He bit the reflexive response back, buzzing in my throat— _it’s not my pussy, I’m not—well, it’s complicated—_

“Right, hold on. Sorry, wait,” Sara said, sitting up and watching his expression change. “I…um, what do you—what words? Do you use?”

She gestured uselessly at the air. “Sorry. This sounds so clunky and dumb, but I wanna do it right for you, so could you—“

“I—“

“No, it’s fine, we’ll figure it out later, just tell me if I’m doing something wrong and come here,” Sara said, beckoning to him. He did as he was told, crawling onto the bed and sitting up on his knees, lifting his arms behind his head and opening his thighs wider. Sara whistled. “Don’t you clean up nice.”

“I’m not wearing anything,” he mumbled, his tongue heavy with shock.

“That’s what I mean,” Sara said. “I _really_ like seeing you like this, you know. All naked and flushed and kneeling with your cock hot for me. You’re such a good fucking boy for me, aren’t you?”

He nodded, closing his eyes and turning his head. The bed shifted and Sara was grabbing his chin, gentle and careful as she turned his gaze to hers. “Nope. You’re gonna look me in the eye when I suck your cock, beautiful.”

“Oh,” Rip shivered. “Oh. Oh, thank you. I will. Please.”

She knelt on the bed in front of him, letting him fall back on his heels, his thighs spread wide so she could bury her face between his legs, her tongue sliding between his thighs and up, stroking, her fingers sliding inside of him as she applied suction.

Rip cupped the back of her head with his hands, shaking so hard he was sure he’d fall off the bed, his stomach clenching with pleasure, his thighs hot and wet, trembling. Her other hand moved to nudge them open more, still sucking hard, her teeth scraping his lips.

Rip made an incoherent noise, his eyelids fluttering as he stroked her hair. She nipped at the inside of his thigh, pulling away. “Look at me, Rip.”

He forced himself to look down. She was smiling at him, her lips and chin slick with his pre-come, and she _glowed._ He smiled back without a second thought, and she stuck her tongue out at him, teasing. “Your come tastes good, y’know. Real tart.”

“Oh—oh, thank you,” Rip said, his face pink. “I—Sara? You don’t have to—“

“Shut up and let me suck your dick, god,” Sara tutted, kissing the insides of his thighs before sticking her tongue inside him, flattening her tongue to drag it along his lips, making him moan, muffling it into his clenched fist.

For a little while that was it—he stroked her hair and back, murmuring nonsense, warm, loving platitudes that were mumbled half-coherent after being filtered through his barely-functioning brain, and she traced her name on his inner thigh with her tongue and slid her fingers in and out of him, curling them inside him every so often just to hear him shout, sucking and nipping and fingering him until his slick dripped onto the sheets and he couldn’t focus his vision well enough to look at her when she lifted her eyes to watch him.

“Gonna come?” she asked. Rip licked his lips.

“Dunno,” he mumbled. “I want to, I want to, please—I want to come in your mouth, Sara, may I?”

“Mm,” Sara sighed, sliding three fingers inside of him and lapping at the spurts of fluid that slid over her fingers and into her palm, “’course you can. You’re gonna come for me as many times as I want, baby boy, you know that? I can make you come over and over again, and I will. That’s a promise.”

Rip’s orgasm rocked him, starting in his belly and rippling down in a wave of heat until it gripped his insides and throbbed out through his thighs and clit, hard and throbbing, dripping all over himself and Sara as he grasped her hair between his fingers and moaned, bucking his hips against her face while she coaxed more slick from inside him, curling her fingers and letting it drip out over her wrist.

Slow, deliberate, curling her fingers to scrape lightly at his insides as she went, she pulled her fingers out of him. Rip shuddered, moaning when she dragged her slick fingers up his chest and leaned in to kiss him, swallowing down his moan with a smile.

“Sara?” he said when she broke away, nibbling on his lower lip, “I haven’t made you come.”

“I’m fine—“

“No, I’d like to,” Rip said, his jaw set and his brow furrowed. “I’d like that quite a bit.”

Sara wrinkled her nose, grinning at him. “That might be the most English proposition for sex I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, it doesn’t change the truth,” Rip said.

Sara laughed. “A man after my own heart.”

She got off the bed, leaned against the wall next to it, and picked up her dress, flipping the skirt up and revealing no less than three glimmering, sleek knives, sharp and wicked. “I gotta do a weapons check. Come finger me while I go over my stash.”

“I—“

“What, you got anything? I’ll check it over too.”

“ _No,_ because—“

“You’re not used to being prepared to assassinate people?” Sara said, idly lifting up her leg and slinging it over Rip’s shoulder, her heel digging in. Rip sucked in a shudder and moved his hand down to rub her lips. He closed his eyes to drink in the feel of her, wet and sticky, her clit throbbing when he touched it with his thumb.

“Sara, I’ve never had my cock half so wet than when I watched you fight earlier,” he said in a rush, before embarrassment could corner him in a dark alley and strike him down, “it was—it was fucking incredible. You were beautiful. Divine. Terrible. And—and mine.”

“Yeah,” Sara said, tossing her head back, her tongue lolling out past her lips as she sighed, one hand reaching down and checking her knives, adjusting them in their sheaths, one hand sliding over her staves as her free hand grabbed the back of Rip’s head, dragging him in for a kiss. “All for you, my captain. Gotta look after you.”

“Who else would?” Rip murmured against her lips, sliding two fingers inside her as his thumb worked her clit, stroking and pressing and rubbing hard in circles, making her wail into his mouth. He bit at her lips lightly, sucking them swollen before pulling away with a filthy wet pop.

“My captain,” she mumbled again, nuzzling her face against his, shuddering. He felt her thighs tense and smiled.

“My darling,” he said, and it felt like a promise. When she came seconds later, a breathy, panting shout of his name, it was enough to prevent him from thinking it was a promise he wouldn’t be able to keep.

He lifted her up and she hooked her legs around his hips. He handed her the staves, and helped her slide a knife between her breasts and strap another to her thigh. She handed him a third. “Keep it. I worry.”

“That’s my job.”

“Shut up and take the knife,” Sara said as he reached back onto the bed and grabbed her necklace, clasping it around her neck. “I do worry, idiot. You’re not a killer.”

“Neither are you,” he promised her, sliding his fingers down her belly, leaving a shining trail of her slick streaked across her skin like a comet tail. “You are my instrument. My protector. My right hand.”

Sara shuddered, hiding her face. “Can’t be that. Feels too good.”

“My instrument,” he promised her, sliding his fingers into her again, curling them inside her. “You are not a monster or a murderer. You are the means by which I will protect this team, this timeline. You are my brave, beautiful knight.”

“Sure thing, King Arthur,” she teased. He chuckled.

“Why not?” he offered, kissing the bridge of her nose. “Do you fancy being Lancelot?”

“Sounds good to me,” she sighed, letting him pull his fingers free and press them against her lips. “C’mon, then. Let’s go get ourselves a Holy Grail.”

“Pants first,” Rip said, gently lowering her on the bed and helping her into her dress. He pulled his briefs on afterwards, hastily jerking his slacks up after, buttoning his shirt and leaving his tie and belt behind. Sara grinned.

“I like seeing you sloppy,” she said. “I could get used to that look if you’re not careful.”

“Well then,” Rip said, offering her his hand. “I suppose I’ll have get used to being reckless.”

“You’re off to a good start,” she said, taking his hand and squeezing it tight.


End file.
